


Hood-winked

by a_thousand_deaths



Category: Fence (Comics)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, M/M, Shameless Smut, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-12
Updated: 2020-12-12
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:01:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28020576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_thousand_deaths/pseuds/a_thousand_deaths
Summary: Sharp is the kiss of the falcon's beak.Edward Bulwer-Lytton, 1st Baron Lytton
Relationships: Jesse Coste/Eugene Labao, Nicholas Cox/Seiji Katayama
Comments: 6
Kudos: 23





	Hood-winked

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thestarminstrel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thestarminstrel/gifts).



Nicholas Cox should have known better.

In his defense, he was dirty, dead tired, and, even at his best, he had always been drawn like a magnet, with a kind of irresistible inevitability, to the things that could do him the most damage.

It was true with the raptors, it was true with his dad, and it was _certainly_ true with the falcon prince.

It had been a long day of cleaning out the mews, of mucking out musty feathers and sweeping up crusty pellets while the hawks watched him with gimlet eyes, shifting on their perches outside with wary disapproval. They liked Joe best, and they had only barely begun to trust Nick, and now he was here without the King, and they stood high on razor tipped legs, whip-quick glances making their displeasure clear. He could have hurried, but Joe would come down and make sure he had done the job right, propriety be damned, so Nicholas took his time. He scrubbed the walls twice over to be sure they were clean, faithfully filling each bird’s water dish and leaving them little treats afterwards, hunks of bone and gristle that they regarded with the deepest suspicion. 

Once he was done, Nicholas wiped his palms off on the seat of his pants, holding up his forearm to blunt the glare as he squinted at the sun low on the horizon. He could just barely make it in time, if he was fast enough. He wanted to walk to the cliffs again, smell the fresh pine and see the sunset and maybe-- if he was lucky-- catch a glimpse of Katayama. The gyrfalcon sometimes soared there at the close of day, circling up the thermals, a distant dot in the clouds, and Nicholas found it soothing to watch him, so most evenings found him walking down to the cliffside, head in the heavens, searching the skies for the falcon prince.

Now Nicholas sat on the edge of the healer’s bed, gingerly poking the edge of his palm, where the stitches stuck out raw and prickly and black, and winced.

_I got a glimpse, all right._

************************ 

The trail that wound up the cliffside was out of the way and obscure, little more than a clearing away of underbrush beneath the evergreens, packed slush smudged with dirty footprints from where he’d gone up it the day before. If Nicholas hadn’t already known it was there, he would have missed it. Most folk from the village didn’t even realize there was a path; the switchbacks were slippery, treacherous even in summer, and only Nicholas was stupid enough to attempt them now, with the full force of winter at his back.

The wind howled, stark promise of a blizzard on the way, and it was very distracting, blowing chunks of sleet into his eyes and knocking powder from the tree branches and down the back of his coat. That must have been why Nicholas managed to make it all the way to the base of the cliff before he noticed him: a muddled pile of blood and feathers, stark upon the snow. He blended in so well that at first all Nicholas could see was the blood, a violent ruby red, and his feet led him forward, curious, and then came a series of harsh, strident calls, clipped bursts of anger hitting him like a slap in the face, and the heap of feathers resolved itself into a gyrfalcon, one wing furiously beating the air, beak gaping as he panted, dark eyes burning with rage, daring him to come any closer. 

_Katayama._

For so it must be; everyone knew there were no true gyrfalcons in the mountains by the castle. It wasn’t cold enough for their blood, too low in altitude for them to congregate there in any numbers whatsoever, and Nicholas stared at the falcon prince screaming out his warning, one wing hanging awkward and motionless at his side, and wondered what the hell he should do.

“Your highness…?” he tried, inching a boot along the path, and the hiss the falcon gave then, head hackled and beak at the ready, was enough to turn his blood frosty as the firs behind him. Nicholas held his hands palm out, backing up all the way to the cliff, where he let his head fall back against the rock and muttered a string of curses. The sunset was turning the cliffside pink and gold, striking sparkles off the snow, but already the sky had turned indigo at the edges, and soon it would be twilight, and then full dark.

He should go get someone from town, or better yet, the castle. Joe would know what to do, or, if he had been able to leave before the storm, Gene might be at the inn. He’d have some advice, probably, or at the very least, some experience dealing with Katayama, as they had apprenticed under the same flight master. It was getting dark, but Nicholas would probably have enough light to get back if he went now.

That would mean leaving the falcon alone, furious and wounded and scared in the snow, waiting helplessly for his return.

Nicholas gave one final heartfelt curse, and shrugged off his wool coat, holding it before him like a cloak.

_Here goes nothing._

This time when Nicholas approached Katayama, it was with surefooted grace, and he didn’t let any of the warning calls so much as break his stride. The falcon went deathly silent then, flaring his feathers and preparing for battle, sliding himself sideways to get his talons into play, and when Nicholas threw his jacket over the tiercel, the commotion was terrible, mingled screeching and hissing and somehow his arm got stuck under a sleeve and the falcon lunged, razor tipped beak sinking into the meat of his hand right between his thumb and his forefinger, Katayama’s strike crisp and clean and deep as a dagger.

The pain shot through Nicholas, an intricate, incandescent agony, lighting up his arm and making his entire left side throb like a swords-point had embedded itself in his palm, and the falcon screamed in his arms, thrashing about under the jacket as blood poured over the snow.

_Fuck me._

Nicholas sank to his knees, head between his legs so he wouldn’t faint, and in between a series of deep breaths that turned his lungs to ice, he wrapped the falcon in wool, taking great care to leave room near his head so he could breathe. Though Katayama struggled mightily, Nicholas managed to cover him up snug and tight in the end, going out of his way to avoid getting anywhere near his beak or the toes he flexed in impotent fury.

The jacket was already shredded from the tiercel’s talons, but with the wool bunched in between them he couldn’t clench them around (and into) Nicholas’ biceps like he so clearly wanted, and that would have to do. His hand had bled all over the coat, mingling with Katayama’s own blood and making a terrible mess, and the bite was _still_ bleeding, so he set the falcon down gently on the snow and fashioned an impromptu bandage with his scarf, tying it tight and finishing the knot off with his teeth, and after that it was time to go.

Nicholas squatted before the trembling bundle, working the inside of his cheek with his teeth. “I’m going to take you to the castle,” he said, keeping his voice as steady as he could, considering his hand felt like it had gotten stuck in a wheat thresher. “It won’t take us long, and then the healer there can look at your wing.”

The bundle gave a low hiss, but otherwise there was no response, save for more shaking.

_He’s terrified._

Nicholas worked his hands under the jacket, scooping up the falcon slowly and cradling the bird to his chest, and there were no more noises then, just voiceless panting and tremors so violent he could feel them through the thick fabric. Katayama weighed next to nothing, and even though the tiercel had proven eminently capable of mounting a savage and effective defense, Nicholas found himself holding the swaddled falcon as tenderly as if he were made of crystal.

The way back to the castle was a blur; Nicholas’ sole focus was on the injured prince in his arms, and how to make the journey as quick and painless as possible for him. He had to keep adjusting his grip, for the falcon’s uncontrollable shivering threatened to jounce the bird out of his grasp, but it was a tricky business, as he didn't want to inadvertently cause Katayama more distress by holding him too tightly.

Underlying everything was the bone cold ache in his palm, which had exchanged the initial electric jolts for a numbness that did not bode well, but did make it slightly easier to bear, at least in the short term.

The night was clear, the threatening storm having passed them by, and he could see every star in the sky, burning holes in the darkness, close enough to touch, and some interminable amount of time later Nicholas was being hailed before the castle gates at last, sweating under torchlight and trying to explain what had happened on the cliffs and why it resulted in him coming in half undressed and covered in blood.

There was ruckus in the courtyard once the guards understood just what (or rather, _who_ ) was underneath Nicholas’ stained and splattered coat, and in short order they were both taken to a cozy, secluded room, where a crackling fire burned in the hearth and a small bed and chairs lay close to the light. Nicholas had no sooner settled the falcon in one chair, himself in another, than a harried looking woman entered, scrubbing her hands with some sharp smelling substance as she went. She had a matter of fact air and kind, yet firm, light in her dark eyes that made Nicholas feel at home right away.

“Where is he then,” she said briskly, setting a small pot on a hook over the fire, and Nicholas caught a whiff of wine before she covered it. “It’s good for cleaning, makes sure nothing foreign settles in deep. I’m Sally, by the way.”

“He’s in there,” he said, pointing at the bundle, and before Nicholas could introduce himself, Sally squinted, taking his hand in between her own and examining his ill fitting bandage. 

“May I…?” she asked, and at his nod, she unwrapped it gingerly, her movements watchful and slow. He only cried out once, when a piece of fabric caught on the edge of the bite, and Sally whistled when she had the whole of it exposed before her.

“Seems I have two patients,” she said. “The guards only told me about one.” 

Nicholas shrugged, giving an awkward laugh. “You should look at Kata-- at the prince first. I’ll be alright.”

Sally cocked her head, her eyes flicking from his palm to his face with a considering air, and she gave a nod. “Very well. But you’re not leaving here tonight without stitches.”

Not waiting on a reply, she turned to regard the heap of clothes on the seat, that was, to Nicholas’ relief, no longer shaking in the least bit. “Katayama, it’s Sally Williams, the King’s healer,” she said in a loud, commanding voice. “You’re safe, back in the walls, and I need to tend to you. Will you deign to let me?”

There was a meaningful pause, and then the sleeve of the jacket lifted and slumped, and there was an incredibly faint chirrup, which almost sounded... 

\-- _abashed_?

When Sally lifted off the jacket, the falcon sat like a stone, hunched into himself defensively, his wing drooping by his side, and at the touch of her fingers he chirruped once more and went quiet, talons shredding Nicholas’ poor coat but otherwise making nothing that could be taken as a sign of aggression.

Sally whistled again, lower and longer than when she had with Nicholas.

“Is it that bad?” he asked, curling his fingers to his mangled palm before straightening them with a muffled yelp.

Sally’s lips pressed together at Nicholas’ cry of pain, her brow furrowed as she grabbed the pot. “No-o, but we’ll have to disinfect it right away. I might need you to hold him while I pour this, can you manage?”

Nicholas rewrapped his hand, steadfastly ignoring Sally’s wince. “Of course I can,” he said.

“Seiji, I won’t have you savaging this poor young man any more than you already have tonight, do you understand me?”

The falcon’s proud head dipped, the dark eyes closing, and the tiercel seemed for an instant to turn meek, if such a noble creature could ever be said to assume such a humble expression.

“Good,” continued Sally, and without further ado, she took Nicholas’ wrists, guiding his hands around the sleek feathers and fast heartbeat that made up Katayama in his falcon form. He was just as fearsome close up, but strangely delicate to the touch, and though he no longer shivered, Nicholas could sense the tension in him, tuned to some excruciatingly high pitch, and he felt a pang of sympathy as Sally took the lid off the pot.

“Your highness,” she said. “I would recommend keeping your eyes closed.” 

Despite Nicholas’ fears of acquiring more punctures than the one he already possessed, Sally was quick and efficient, cleaning and tending to the gouge on Katayama’s wing, while the falcon lay, stiff yet acquiescent, in the palms of Nicholas’ hands. 

The pressure of him, however light, was enough to make the pain double back, aching, but Nicholas was never tempted to let go.

Sally stood back once she was done, hands on her hips, pronouncing the falcon battered and bruised, but ultimately certain to make a full recovery.

“But no over taxing yourself like you love to do so much. Over-training is just as bad as not training enough, you know.”

The noise the falcon made indicated exactly how much weight he placed on that opinion.

“You not agreeing with me in no ways makes me wrong,” said Sally, and when Nicholas snickered, she looked up at him with a raised eyebrow. “You can stop holding him now,” she said, and Nicholas instantly released him, his cheeks stinging, but there was worse to come, for the movement had reminded Sally of his stitches.

“Let’s get it over with,” she said, hefting the pot, and that time it was the falcon’s turn to preen.

After she was done with Nicholas’ stitches, Sally decided to keep the falcon overnight. “He shouldn’t transform after such a shock. It might make his injury worse. I’ll keep him here and keep an eye on him,” she said in an undertone to Nicholas, while the falcon hunkered down into a small nest she had made for him by the fire and Nicholas fiddled with the edge of his stitches. “Come back tomorrow so I can check on that hand. And Nicholas?”

Nicholas paused, turning from where he had gotten up to leave.

“I know Seiji Katayama better than most. He’ll be singing a different tune tomorrow, when he realizes how much trouble he could have been in if it weren’t for you.”

Nicholas smiled gamely, though his heart wasn’t in it. _Princes like him don’t have changes of heart. Or maybe they do, in the fairy tales._ But Nicholas Cox had stopped believing in fairy tales sometime after he realized his dad was never coming back. 

“Thanks, Sally,” he said, and left, closing the door behind him.

**Author's Note:**

> Happy birthday Nik :)


End file.
